John's Story Read Free Page B

could not mask his baldness.
    The crowd erupted in cheers, and all in the assembly—save John—knelt or bowed or saluted. The soldier who had kindly eschewed the massive ankle bracelets for him now barked in his ear, “Bow to your ruler!”
    John raised his chin and gazed heavenward, whereupon the soldier hammered him between the shoulder blades, driving him to his knees. The old man pitched forward, turning his face at the last instant to take the brunt of his weight on his cheekbone.
    The crowd was quieted.
    Domitian spoke. “Present the accused!”
    Soldiers on either side of John yanked him to his feet.
    “Are you John bar-Zebedee, born at Bethsaida, northeast of Syria Palestine, and currently of Ephesus?”
    “I am he, but I reject the renaming of Judea to Syria Palestine.”
    “Regardless, are you aware of the charges against you?”
    “I am not.”
    The emperor reddened and glanced at his advisers. His wife appeared amused. The others nodded, as if to urge him on.
    “It has been brought to my attention that despite your status as a resident of the Roman Empire, you deny the deity of your god and have deigned to do so in writing.”
    “On the contrary,” John said. “My written record proves that I serve the true and living God and His Son, Jesus the Christ, whom I believe is divine.”
    The crowd seemed to gasp as one, and the soldiers who held John glared at him. The emperor appeared speechless, and two advisers rushed to him, conferring quietly. As one returned to his seat, Domitian nodded to the other, who faced John and spoke. “You have the freedom to renounce your loyalty to this false god,” he said, “destroy your written record to the contrary, and pledge your fealty to your master and lord, the emperor, the censor for life, the pontifex maximus, the father of his country, and the erector of fifty new buildings, including the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitol and the palace on the Palatine.”
    “Thank you for that freedom,” John said, “which I choose not to exercise. Whether it is right in the sight of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to listen to you more than to His resurrected Son is for you to judge.”
    At that all on the dais rose, and the throng behind John began to shout.
    “Kill him!”
    “Crucify him!”
    “Feed him to the lions!”
    The advisers and the emperor conferred again, and Domitian raised his arms to quiet the crowd. “My friend and trusted consul, Senator Marcus Nerva, shall pronounce the sentence.”
    Nerva, a full-haired man in his sixties with a long, thin nose and a cleft chin, announced that “for the crime of heresy and for serving false gods, the guilty is to be boiled in oil.”
    With a sweep of his hand, Nerva signaled slaves to sweep back the curtain to reveal a colossal black iron cauldron suspended over a grate covering kindling and logs drenched with pitch. Additional wood stood in neat piles. Slaves filled the pot with oil from tall earthen jars. The crowd roared anew.
    Emperor Domitian thanked Nerva and said, “John bar-Zebedee, do you understand the charges brought against you and their consequences?”
    John did not respond, imitating his Lord when He faced His accusers. Trembling as much with anticipation as fear, John reminded himself of the Scriptures, of the prophecy of Isaiah, who had written:
He was oppressed and He was afflicted,
    Yet He opened not His mouth;
    He was led as a lamb to the slaughter,
    And as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
    So He opened not his mouth.
    John could see his silence enraged Domitian, though that had not been his aim.
    “Ignite the flames!” the emperor bellowed, and the crowd cheered. Domitian took his seat beside his wife, and slaves tossed torches beneath the gigantic pot. As the flames licked the sides of the vessel, soldiers lowered John to his stomach on the ground, and drew his feet up behind him and manacled them, attaching them with chains to his bound hands. They hoisted him over the pot and